


If You Don't Ask

by gladsomemind



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Inappropriate Humor, Multi, unexpected angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladsomemind/pseuds/gladsomemind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kerry proves that if you don't ask you don't get; Scott has an unexpected attack of the 'why me's'; Stonebridge is out for a run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Don't Ask

“Damien?”

Not since his mother had the use of his name as a question filled the ex-Delta Force soldier with such dread.  His friend’s pregnant wife shouldn’t be able to do it.  After all she probably only wanted to milk her condition for all it was worth and after spending the last few months with Twenty he could make a cup of tea with the best of them – well at least a cup of tea some of them would drink.

“Kerry?”

The blonde sat forward on the couch and fixed him with a stare that she shouldn’t need for a couple of years at least.  “Mike’s told me stories about your escapades.”  

It wasn’t like Stoneface was going to talk about their missions so Damien was a little lost at what she could be talking about.  Kosovoan organ farms didn’t exactly make for entertaining pillow talk.

“He says that you’re all talk about being some sort of god in bed when there’s no proof to back up your claims.”

What the hell had Mikey boy been saying?  Comments around blow up dolls aside the other man seemed to alternate between annoyed and impressed at Damien’s ability to pull.  But, as his daddy had never told him, the best defence was a good offence.  With a leer he asked, “Want a demonstration, Kerry girl?”

The peel of laughter wasn’t particularly flattering.  It did give an out though.  Kerry was amused, Damien didn’t have to upset his friend’s wife and Michael didn’t have to be told that his girl was fooling around on him.  A happy upshot being that the Brit wouldn’t shoot him in the ass the first chance he got.  This could all work out fine.

“Not me!”  She finally got out and Damien’s heart unexpectedly sank.  He didn’t want to tell Mikey that his wife clearly thought that turnabout was fair play; he didn’t want to turn down a woman he liked because he cared more about the bonds of marriage than she did – but to be dismissed as a joke, that hurt.  He’d play the whore for her, would chat up the faceless victim she had in mind, with a good time had by all.  He’d pay his debts for the welcome he’d received but he would never be able to come back.  He wept for another lost home.

Something must have shown on his face, for all the resistance to interrogation training he’d gone through because Kerry stopped laughing abruptly then got up to move across the room only to fall to her knees in front of him.

“God Damien, not like that!”  She looked quite distraught at the thought that she’d caused him pain.  “Never like that.  Fuck this is hard.”  She hit him on the knee as if this was all Scott’s fault.  “It’s your fault for not being English.”  He was beginning to lose the thread of this conversation.  “Or mine for being _too_ English.”

Kerry pushed against his knees until she was kneeling up then took his hands in a grip that it would be the work of a moment to break.  “I want you to kiss Michael.  No,” she shook her head making the loose mane jump around, “if I ask you for that you’ll kiss him on the cheek like you’re kissing a boo boo better.”

Damien had to give her points for balls as she made firm eye contact.  “I want you to snog Michael.  I want you to mack on him until he doesn’t know which way is up, while I watch.  Then I want the three of us to retire to our big bed  and spend the rest of the weekend arguing about whose turn it is to get up for drinks.”

Damien didn’t know what to say to that.  “What? Why?”

Kerry smiled and this one didn’t fill him with the same sort of dread.  “Because gas is expensive, it’s going to be cold this weekend and this way we won’t have to turn the heating up!”

“Just being green?”  As if that settled everything!  There was no way that Kerry had broached a threesome without running it past Mikey first.  Not even the Limeys were that insane – present conversation pushing the boundaries that it was.  Which meant that Sergeant Michael Stonebridge of the S A bloody S had agreed, or at the very least not protested strongly, to a threesome.  With him.  And Scott’s life was just a fucked up bizarre mess.  Unless, of course, Damien Scott wasn’t the expected third person.

“He’s going to be expecting another woman in this little ménage a trois you’re planning, you do know that don’t you?”  Because that was the only possible explanation for tightpants to indulge Kerry in this.

“Only if he’s a fucking idiot.  He put away the Tesco’s order; he knew you were coming round for the weekend since you were both back and you still haven’t sorted out housing.”  She pushed her way up to her feet.  “You’d think condoms, lube and beer would be enough of a hint – even if he was being wilfully blind.  Besides, he was there when I grabbed the bottle of Laphroaig in duty free on the way back from Vienna.  Considering he drinks rum and I drink gin…”  She let the explanation trail off.

“Besides we discussed you in detail don’t forget.  I was told that I was ‘allowed’ to set you up with whoever I wanted as long as you were OK with it.”  She went serious again.  “You do get that this is your choice don’t you?  You shouldn’t feel obliged to do anything you don’t want to.  The weekend is yours.  We can sit around down here, you can swig that liquid you call beer and waste the days watching footy and eating takeaways.  I’ll even turn up the thermostat so you don’t get cold.  The spare room is made up so there’s somewhere to crash.

“We’ll pretend I said nothing and you can entertain me with tales of half naked COs and lurid fantasies of bitchslap Grant.  You change your mind you let me know.  Now, coffee?”  The pregnant wife of his best friend and comrade in arms made her way over to the kitchen.

The hurt he’d felt before had gone.  The earnestness of Kerry’s explanation and the sheer assumption that Michael would be OK with this insane plan had washed it away as if it had never been there.  Which just left one question.

“Why not you?” At the raised eyebrow he elaborated.  “I offered you a demonstration and you laughed and said not you.  Then throw this out there.”

 She came back into the room with the coffees, handing over the china mug pre-fixed with milk as if it meant nothing that she remembered how he took it after making it once.  “That goes back to when you guys came back from India.  He was saying how you pulled the waitress, the mark and a six year old orphan.  There was some comment about him being OK with you kissing whoever you wanted as long as it wasn’t me.”  

She took a pull on her own drink.  “If we do do this then you are going to have to teach him to share.” 

Reaching for the remotes Kerry turned on the television, channel hopping with a moue of distaste at the weekend day time TV offerings.  It was clear that the decision was now with him.  She wasn’t going to bring it up again and the offer was only going to be good for this weekend.  After that the door would be closed and it wouldn’t be mentioned for fear of embarrassing _him_.  A cup of coffee and an Extreme Couponing marathon to help make up his mind – although the choice of TV shows could be some underhand method of forcing the choice the way she wanted it to go. 

He’d turned Dana down in the end because he didn’t want to ruin the fantasy.  Would taking the Stonebridge’s up on theirs be the end of his working relationship with Mikey?  Was the promise of family strong enough to overcome the protection that isolation gave against the fear of being alone?  Looking over at the woman muttering abuse at the excessive purchasing of pointless shit by his countrymen it struck him - this was family, done in a nice, polite, British way.  It wasn’t the family he’d grown up in but it was family none the less.  

This was a cup of coffee made because Kerry was getting one for herself not the offering to a guest.  The scotch was in the cupboard because it was assumed he’d be around and she’d picked it up while she was passing an offer, it wasn’t _special_ \- it just was.

The sex was just an extension of the kinkiness that seemed to lie under all of the British facades if you scratched just a little bit.  Colonel Grant had barely blinked at the suggestion of a strap on, she’d been more annoyed that she was stuck bailing him out than at the thought of the deed.  Where America had been screaming la la la la la with its fingers in its ears with DADT the Brits had just got on with letting people be people and the world hadn’t ended.  

Even the thought of getting in the middle of a marriage had faded to inconsequence.  Both were clearly happy with the idea.  Was it cheating if they were using the emotional attachments that were already there?

At the end of the day there wasn’t a decent match on until Sunday, the white trashness of the TV program was enough to drive anyone mad and that was the sound of Mikey’s key in the door.  Just back from a run, hot, sweaty, and in those tights.  Well Damien Scott could work with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I need someone to write Strike Back fiction so I can scratch my itch.
> 
> As no-one is - I subject you to this. Which did not turn out the way I planned at the beginning (which was supposed to have included something other than a cup of coffee and some telly)
> 
> Sorry


End file.
